


Paris, 1307

by DesertPersephone



Category: Knightfall (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Consensual Somnophilia, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Somnophilia, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, contains spoilers for pierre's plotline, overly detailed washing, pierre's fat tiddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertPersephone/pseuds/DesertPersephone
Summary: Day in and day out, Pierre hid himself away and tried to do his job. But it grew tiring, pretending to someone else, pretending to be someone pious. And sometimes he just needed to sneak away, to the place, the people, who knew him best.__In other words Pierre gets fucked three ways to Sunday by some thinly veiled OCs. Contains spoilers for his storyline in Knightfall.
Relationships: Pierre (Knightfall)/Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Pierre/Henri/Anne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Paris, 1307

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm in love with Joey Batey and when I saw him as the flithy, lying Templar spy (with his delicious fat tiddy), I knew I needed to write him getting some love.
> 
> Leave a comment or a kudos, especially if the OCs are just as thinly veiled as I think they are.
> 
> Also i did proof this but idk if i got all the typos forgive me

It was rare that he managed to sneak away since taking this latest job. The Templars did a relatively good job at keeping people out of their Holy Sanctum, and just as good of a job at keeping people in. But Pierre had not gotten to this place in his life without having a talent for escaping. It was sometimes an ordeal to sneak past the other initiates, especially now that Parsifal had decided Pierre was his new best friend (even if it had been Parsifal who had made him a scapegoat to be whipped), but he always somehow managed it through various means of deceit. The Templars themselves posed no threat, usually too busy with their own finely crafted drama within the organization for that, and other then the ones on guard duty, they barely managed to notice the rats in their pantry. Pierre had discovered an easy route along the roofs early in his stay at the Temple, slipping through the window of the attic room the initiates shared and across the thatched hay to freedom. As long as he only went out at night, it seemed foolproof, and no one ever seemed to look up. He didn’t care to risk it more than absolutely necessary though, but it was always a relief to have his boots hit the street and his lungs fill with the cold night air. Pierre swore that the air in the Temple was different, stuffy and dense, almost like it was caked with chalk, ready to fill his lung and choke him if he didn’t get this mission over with soon. And God, did it feel like that might be impossible. Pierre wasn’t even sure he believed in the Holy Grail, it seemed a stretch to go from promises of the parish priest to a mythical cup of healing, and now he was expected to _find_ it? While a handful of angry Templars were doing the same thing? And another handful were trying to stop it from being found? And then there was Parsifal and his mission to find Roland…

Pierre gave his head a little shake to remove the worries starting to cling to him like cobwebs and ducked through the streets, hood pulled up over his head. He had left behind the linen tabard that marked him as a Templar initiate, along with the heavy and bulky chainmail he was required to wear most other days, and now he moved through the streets silent and invisible as a shadow until he came upon a shuttered up boarding house. The house rented a to a number of patrons, mostly craftsmen and their occasional wife before the family grew and inevitably moved to a larger residence out of the city’s limits. But Pierre knew the creaking steps and leaning walls well by now. He made his way up to the rickety top floor and to the only apartment there. Seeing the door after so long trapped in the stone prison the Templars called home, Pierre let out a small sigh of relief, pushing his hood back and running a hand through his long hair. He took a moment to close his eyes and absorb the feeling of being here, of being… safe for the moment before he slipped a key in the lock and silently pushing the door open. It was late, of course, and Pierre didn’t wish to disturb the people sleeping on the other side of the door, so he entered as absolutely silently as possible.

The apartment he entered was just a simple room, the first half serving as both a kitchen and dining area, with the table often doing double duty as a writing desk as well. Just beyond that was a cabinet with a basin for washing and a few trunks, as well as a very large bed against the far wall placed under the only window. The apartment was so familiar that Pierre almost dared to call it home. It smelled of woodsmoke and wool fat, of women’s perfume and the faintest scent of tallow, welcoming aromas that Pierre took in as he tugged his boots off, the wide leather belt around his waist following, finding a home on a chair to be joined by his cloak. On his way to the bed, Pierre stopped to tend the embers burning low in the fireplace. The apartment was always cold, and he added another small log to the fire in hopes of warming it up, though he knew that soon enough he would be plenty warm.

Continuing his journey to the bed, a smile spread over his face as he observed the people curled together under the blankets. The bed was occupied by a man and a woman, intertwined together against the loneliness of the night, the woman asleep on the man’s broad chest, curled against him, breath minutely disturbing the hairs on his chest as he slumbered on. He had a thick arm wrapped around the woman, fingertips resting reverently against the soft skin of her back. Pierre watched them with a smile for a moment before he moved to the wash basin. He knew it wouldn’t be a thorough cleaning, but anything was better then getting kicked out of bed again because he smelt like horse. He washed his face and neck, before tugging his tunic and shirt up to scrub at his armpits. When they were rinsed of sweat, he dropped his trousers. Pierre stepped out of the black pool of linen and rolled the thick woolen stockings down, slipping his feet from them. His smallclothes followed, joining the pile of his trousers and tunic. Gently he lifted his shirt up again, holding the grey fabric with his chin as he reached between his legs, chancing a glance at the couple on the bed. They were still fast asleep. Pierre was as quick as he could be about cleaning his cock, gently pulling the foreskin back before moving to rinse the thick hair at the base of his shaft and testicles. Pierre gently ran the rag he was using behind his balls before reaching around, a shiver passing through him as the cold water ran down his crack.

Once his skin felt clean and fresh, prickling in the cold air, Pierre hung the rag on the indoor line to dry and dropped his thin shirt down again as he moved to the side of the bed. He smoothed his shirt over his stomach with a slight grimace before crawling onto the bed, gentle light filtering in through the window, gleaming off the curves of the woman’s shoulder and the man’s nose. Pierre gently drew the blankets back, revealing acres and acres of naked skin, like a painting of true sin laid out before him. Her skin was like hot caramel and while the man’s face and arms were tanned from the sun, his chest was the colored of poured cream and the woman had her knee bent and leg hoisted up to rest on the man’s meaty thigh. Pierre groaned softly at the sight as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her shoulder, fingertips ghosting down her hip to the man’s. He trailed kisses over the woman’s back, hand trailing up the man’s stomach, unable to help the urge to pull some of the hairs there. Both stirred at his attentions, hair and beard tickling the unbelievably soft skin of the woman’s shoulders while crystal blue eyes blinked open.

A soft chuckle emanated from the man, reaching up to catch Pierre’s hand as his fingers played with a nipple. Pierre lifted his head, tossing his bangs back slightly as he grinned at the other man.

“Hello Henri.” He whispered, delicate fingers cupping the man’s gently stubbled cheek. Henri pressed a kiss to his palm, before he spoke.

“Didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.” Henri shifted a little to look at Pierre, the other pressing his fingers to Henri’s lips before snaking it away and dipping his head down to resume the kisses upon the woman’s shoulder. His fingers drifted slow and gentle down the woman’s arm, the curve of her waist to her hip, featherlight to keep her lingering in the valley of sleep. Over her hip, and between them, Pierre’s blunt fingernails grazed the skin of her lips, ghosting through the wiry hair before lifting back to Henri’s mouth, letting the other man’s tongue flick out to wet them, taking them between plump pink lips. Pierre’s fingers soon returned to their quest, dipping in to spread the wetness of Henri’s saliva over the velvet soft skin between her lips, gently circling around her clit, small and tucked away at the apex of her slit. The woman between them gave a sleepy moan as he teased and rubbed at her, still unconscious and unaware of anything save the pleasure slowly being stroked to life in her gut.

As Pierre continued to roll her clit between his fingers, she stirred against Henri, her fingers curling against his chest, breathing picking up in slow gasps and sighs. Pierre could feel her growing wet, the warm stickiness of it something he was quite accustomed to as his fingers slipped inside her cunt to gather some of that wetness, bringing it to her clit to ease the slide. He smiled, glanced up at Henri as she pushed her hips back, against his hand, and Henri moved his hand from the resting place on Pierre’s thigh to join between hers. Pushing himself against her back, Pierre leaned over her shoulder and Henri leaned in, catching their mouths in a brief kiss before two of Henri’s fingers slipped inside of her, eliciting a tiny gasp as her eyes finally fluttered open, hips moving to chase the orgasm that had woken her from rest.

“Henri?” Her voice was thick with sleep, and heady with lust at the fingers still buried deep inside her, still playing roughly with her clit.

“Yes, my darling Anne?” Henri chuckled a little as a moan left her, twisting to see who was pressed against her back.

“Pierre!” Her plump lips spreading into a grin and Pierre returned the smile, meeting her mouth for an enthusiastic kiss, broken only with a rough thrust of Henri’s fingers, her own curling and nails biting into his chest. Pierre stifled a chuckle in her mouth, his own fingers drifting to join Henri’s, pushing inside her as well. Anne gasped and pushed down against the fingers invading her, toes curling a little. She was so sensitive from the first orgasm that once she reached down to tease her abandoned clit, it took her no time at all to come around their fingers, cunt stuffed full and tight. She buried her face in Henri’s chest, legs closing as much as they could, cunt spasming and Pierre could not wait to feel that velvet channel around his cock. He had grown half hard while they had fingered Anne and the swelling shaft of his cock nudged her thigh as he pressed against her to kiss Henri over her shoulder. They gently removed their fingers from her spent body and lost themselves in the kiss, Anne herself carefully ducking out from under them to sit up, pushing the heavy curtain of hair off her neck, letting the air cool her sweaty skin. The boys quickly filled the space left in the bed and Pierre’s fingers, still sticky with Anne, came to wrap around Henri’s cock, Henri’s hand burying itself in Pierre’s hair, pulling on the long strands. Anne couldn’t just let them fumble and make out until dawn though, and reached for Pierre’s cock, trapped and tenting the dark shirt he was still wearing. His mouth fell open for Henri, brow furrowing with pleasure, and he lost himself a little, unsure of whose hands belong to who, mouth too busy trying to keep up with Henri’s kisses, body reacting eagerly to Anne’s strokes. It had been too long since he had last seen them, too long since the last time they were all together, too long since Pierre had felt this safe and this loved. When he could sneak away to have these stolen moments with the two people who knew him best, Pierre almost forgot about the mission, about his shitty bed in the Temple, about what little food they were give, about the bullshit hard labor he was constantly tested with, about the firth they expected the pious to live in, about the Pope and the Grail and everything expect the two people he loved most in life. At least until Anne made to crawl over him, setting her hand on his stomach for leverage and Pierre pulled away with a cry of pain and a wince.

There was an echo of his name from both of them, laced with worry and Pierre did his best to try and brush it off, but it was met only with skepticism from his two lovers and Anne’s hands pulled at his shirt until she managed to pulled it up to reveal the thin crisscross of whiplashes now adorning the soft flesh of his lower stomach.

“What is this?” Anne demanded as she tucked her hair back behind her ear and Henri sat up. There was the sound of a match being struck and then the room was bathed in the weak light of a candle, illuminating the worry in Anne’s knitted brow and Henri’s deep-set frown as they looked at the shallow wounds. Pierre felt a hot wave of shame, something he rarely ever experienced, and he tried to tug his shirt down.

“It’s fine.” He insisted and Anne squinted at him, tugging the fabric back up.

“It’s not! What happened? Did they do this? Those ridiculous monks and their nonsensical ideas of pain and faith?” She would not let the issue go until the answer came, this Pierre knew, and he did not wish the evening to sour and waste is few spare hours away.

“I – Yes, but not for some religious purpose. At least, not directly.” He muttered, letting his hands fall to the side, limb against the bed. “They thought I killed a Saracen who might have had information about the Grail. As if I, of all people, would wish a man with information like that dead.” He gave a weak little chuckle, running his hand over his face.

“So, they… whipped you for it?” Henri asked, fingertips grazing the skin around one of the cuts, gentle and careful with his touch.

“No. They whipped me to get me to confess. Because they knew I had not done it.” Pierre took a breath and raised himself up onto his elbows. “But I’m not dead, so can we maybe celebrate that instead of worrying over just another interrogation? It is a hazard of my duties.”

Flicking his gaze from the cuts to Anne, Henri gave a little shrug, as if to agree with Pierre. Anne frowned and responded with a shake of her head, a rise of eyebrows answering her from Henri. Pierre wouldn’t help but smile. He had witnessed plenty of their silent conversations through the years, reacting himself with a hand on each of their thighs.

“I did sneak out for you.” He reminded them, shifting his hips as a reminder, flagging erection sitting heavily on the seam of his thigh and groin. This seemed to make up the minds of the other two and they descended upon him like harpies from Hell to mark the sore and slightly swollen skin of his stomach with delicate kisses. Anne pressed kisses along the trail of hair from his navel to the base of his cock, tongue dripping out to lave at the base before pressing a couple branding hot kisses there as Henri caressed his thigh, strong, thick fingers almost reverent as they marked out a trail to his balls, cupping Pierre’s heavy sac. A string of curses left Pierre’s lips, head failing back against the pillows, gasping into Henri’s mouth when he was taken for a kiss and Anne slipped the head of his cock between her lips. H was lost once more, reduced down to the simplest, basest desires and feelings. There was a hot, firm hand on his balls, fingers teasing the velvet soft skin behind them and the wet slick of a tongue against the head of his cock, the threat of teeth lingering just on the edge of too much, and god forgive him, but if this was sin, then let the Devil have his soul.

“I want – “ His voice was weak, broken and breathy, far higher in pitch than usual, mouth swollen from Henri’s kisses.

“Yes? Tell us, we’re here to take care of you.” Henri promised, lips fingering the lobe of his ear, teeth sinking in as Anne’s throat worked around the flushed head of his cock, lips spread obscenely around him. He didn’t have a very long cock, short but he had a good amount of girth. Henri’s however, was long and thick and uncut, plenty intimidating for most.

“I want you – inside of me, please Henri.” Pierre said, gasping around the words, fingers threading in Anne’s shining black hair. He felt the echoing vibration of her laugh around him and it went right to his balls, making his cock jerk in her mouth before she pulled off of him, taking his shaft in her hand instead.

“Roll over, _mon coeur_ , on your side.” She encouraged, Henri eagerly pushing at his hip until Pierre was on his side, one of Anne’s dainty hands combing through the dark hair on his chest while Henri retrieved a vial of oil from the nightstand.

“Do you know what I want? Hmm, Pierre?” Anne whispered, reaching up to brush his hair back, hand cupping his cheek, thumb grazing over his mouth. Pierre shook his head, opening his lips for her thumb. “I want you inside me, Pierre, while Henri fucks you. I want to feel him fuck your cock into me.” Her voice was strong, eager and deep as she stroked him, small breasts pressed against his chest. Pierre nodded, catching her mouth in a kiss before trailing down to kiss over her chest, taking a dusky nipple in between his lips. Henri had returned with the oil, and with a kiss to Pierre’s chest, he slipped a slick finger between his cheek and against Pierre’s hole, testing the tight ring of muscle before pressing inside. Pierre groaned, fingers tightening against the curve of Anne’s waist.

“Well,” Henri couldn’t hide his chuckle. “I guess it’s good to know you aren’t playing hide the baguette with any of your other Templar initiates.” He teased softly, slowly working his finger to gently relax Pierre. The other man laughed and pushed back against the intrusion, gasping at the sensation. Henri was right, it had been a while since he had taken another man, that man being Henri, and the stretch of just that one finger was almost overwhelming. Anne had turned in Pierre’s arms, pressing her ass into him now, the soft fat of her cheeks rubbing against his cock and making it weep with pre before she took pity on him and reached to push his hand off her waist, directing it to his cock instead. Pierre seemed to get her message, gripping himself and nudging the head of his cock against her folds. They opened around him like a flower and Pierre slipped inside her easily. She was pliant and soft, wet and warm, from the first two orgasm, stretching around him as he stretched around Henri’s second finger.

Anne seemed content to just wait until he was ready to take Henri, resting with Pierre’s cock deep inside her. There was the steady and sure press of Henri’s fingers inside him, but it wasn’t nearly enough from either of them to do more then stroke the ember of lust in his gut, feeding the pit of Sin there and making him feel unbelievably warmer or more relaxed then he had since the Pope had hired him for this job. Anne had turned to catch his mouth in a kiss, his stubble scrapping over her skin and Henri set kisses of his own against Pierre’s back.

It took awhile, but finally Pierre found himself stretched over four thick fingers and begging for them to have mercy on his soul, to just take him already, to fuck him until he had to limp back to the Temple, to fuck him so hard and so good that tomorrow when he was alone in bed, he would remember the swell of Henri’s fat cock inside him and Anne’s tight cunt around him and he would have to roll over and jerk himself off as silently as he could. That seemed enough for them to give him that mercy, granting him what he wanted. Pierre did moan softly at the loss of Henri’s fingers, but they were quickly replaced with the slick head of his cock and Pierre could not decide if he wished to fuck back onto it or forward into Anne, it was all too good.

“Oh, Holy Father,” Pierre whispered, a groan echoing from his throat, forehead dropping down against Anne’s shoulder as Henri snapped his hips up and drove himself farther into Pierre. The movement pushed Pierre’s cock deeper into Anne and she hummed out her satisfaction at the sensation. It was almost _too much_ as Henri’s cock found itself seat so deep in Pierre’s guts that he was sure if his stomach was leaner they would have been able to see the bulge of it in his belly.

“Please,” He whispered; eyes shit tightly against the heady pleasure in the pit of his groin. “More, please.” He was dimly aware of Anne’s laugh, soft and fluttering, before Henri was starting to more, short, fast thrusts that barely withdrew his cock before slamming it back inside, the thick shaft dragging over his prostate with every movement. It was hard for him to manage the thoughts require to fuck Anne at the same time, his hand just gripping her hips, using the connection as a grounding point as he was fucked into from behind. It didn’t seem to be a problem for her as her own fingers took on the task of teasing her clit and pulling at the nipples of her breasts, the small movements of Pierre’s cock more then enough for the moment. The hot gasps that Henri was coaxing out of Pierre probably helped just as well, painting a vivid picture in her ear of just how good the other man’s cock felt.

“Fuck, Pierre, you’re so fucking – you feel so fucking good.” Henri’s voice, usually fairly deep anyway, had dropped to another register, echoing in Pierre’s skull the way his cock would echo in his ass after this. He could only grunt in response, pressing back against the larger man, asking for more. It had been so long and Pierre was so keyed up just from existing in the wretchedly repressive place with nothing but his seemingly impossible job to distract him from the meaning chores the Templars had him preform, that Pierre knew he wouldn’t long with Henri fucking him so deep and Anne squeezing him to tight. He whimpered a little and leaned forward to press his mouth to her shoulder, lost in the please they gifted upon him.

“Are you going to spill?” Henri’s voice was right there again, his hand moving from Pierre’s hip to ghost his fingertips over Anne’s thigh, growing ever closer to where her cunt was stretched around Pierre’s cock. A muffled whine came as an answer and Henri gave a particularly rough thrust that had Anne gasping as it jerked Pierre inside her.

“Yes,” He whispered, turning his face to look at Henri, eyes blow so the cornflower blue of them was completely overtaken by the black and Henri gave a little chuckle, self-satisfied as always before he caught Pierre’s mouth in a kiss and his fingers slid around the slick skin of Anne’s cunt. Slowly he gently nudged his fingers in to join and Anne moaned, cunt fluttering around them as his fat fingers settled alongside Pierre’s cock. But her moan was nothing compared to the noise that came from Pierre, high pitched and needy. He was utterly trapped in the sensations surrounding him and almost chocked on his pleasure as he came, spilling hot and white and hard in Anne. His cock jerked as he filled her and he could hear Henri behind him, moaning as Pierre’s ass pulsed around his cock and Pierre’s cock jerked against his fingers, and Anne whispering about how good he felt.

Pierre wasn’t really sure when his orgasm ended, but he knew that suddenly his cock was very cold from the night air and Anne had climbed off the bed to wash herself. But Pierre could not mourn the loss of her cunt properly, he had Henri’s hands on his hips suddenly, one sticky and wet with their cum, and he was shifting Pierre onto his front, onto his knees. Pierre couldn’t do much more then rest his chest on the bed as Henri pulled his hips up and rubbed his cock over Pierre’s crack before lining himself back up and sliding home.

“Oh – fuck!” Pierre moaned into the pillows, finger gripping the linen as he was stretched again, in a new position. The angle allowed Henri’s cock to not only brush his prostate but to ram against it with every thrust, and gone was the slow sex from before, Henri’s fingers bit into the fat on Pierre’s hips as he pulled back, far enough that only the head of his cock lingered into Pierre and then slammed back in, punching out a rather loud moan. He felt so soft and relaxed after his orgasm, so sensitive and tender, that the roughness was almost too much. Everything about this night was almost too much.

“Okay?”

Pierre nodded, pushing his hips back as best he could to tell Henri to keep going, keep fucking him. He had softened by now, but that first thrust had him seeing stars all over again, cock giving a feeble twitch. Henri didn’t need to be told twice and eagerly started to fuck him again, driving Pierre into the mattress with each thrust. The wooden frame creaked and groaned and knocked against the wall and Pierre couldn’t keep himself quiet if he tried, whimpering and moaning and he was sure their downstairs neighbors would be awakened by the racket they made. Henri’s fingers would surely leave bruises and Pierre wouldn’t be walking straight for weeks after, but it was worth it, it was worth the tight, almost painful, build of pressure in his balls, worth the pounding of Henri’s hipbones into his ass, and worth the way each moan ripped from him made his throat ache. His eyes were squeezed so tightly that lights danced behind the lids and he could dimly make out what Henri was saying.

_“fuck, you feel so good – your ass, Pierre – you take my cock so good – look at how good you take my cock.”_

Anne was agreeing with him, returned to the bed, fingers stroking through Pierre’s hair as he whined and whimpered with overstimulation. Pierre could feel the way his cock and balls swung between his legs with every rough thrust and even thought he thought he had emptied himself inside Anne, he could feel the steady build of another orgasm in his balls, the urge rising with the constant press of Henri’s swollen cockhead to his prostate.

“Ple _ase_ ,”

He wasn’t sure who he was begging anymore, God, Anne, Henri, or what he was begging for, but he felt Henri reach around to grab a handful of his fat tiddy, squeezing the flesh with no change to the pace of his fucking. Henri’s breathing was just as heavy as Pierre’s, ragged and hot, sweat building on the skin under his chest hair as he chased the pleasure of Pierre’s ass.

Pierre’s second orgasm came almost completely as a surprise, the right push against his insides and then his balls were drawing up and spend was leaking from his soft cock, drooling from the tip onto the bed. He whined, mouth dropped open and eyes shut, pressing both away and toward Henri. As the intense pleasure died away, Pierre could feel Henri finish on his back, hot and wet against his own heated skin. He felt Henri help him to lay on his side, careful and gentle before flopping to the other side, hand reaching out to stroke Pierre’s throat and over his chest, combing though the hair. Pierre could feel a rough rag on his back and between his legs before it was handed over and Henri took it to clean Pierre’s cock and then his own. Pierre whinged at the drag of it over the head of his cock and Anne kissed his cheek. He opened his eyes to find them surrounding him again, Anne at his back, arms around his chest, careful of the wounds to his stomach and Henri at his front, gently petting his hair. Pierre smiled, letting his eyes fall shut again as Henri and then Anne kissed him good night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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